by Victor Poole
"Do you know Rosk?" Ajalia asked suddenly. The mother's features changed. Ullar narrowed her eyes; her chin pressed upwards towards her mouth.
"How do you know him?" Ullar asked. Ajalia felt that she had prodded some secret fold within Ullar, and she thought she could see the woman uncrinkling, and considering her anew.
"I think he bought the yurl from our Eastern caravan," Ajalia said slowly. She saw Ullar's eyes close off again. "I know he looks for the dead falcon," Ajalia put in.
"You are going to get yourself killed," Ullar said sharply. She gathered up the naked witch, and carried her indoors.
"How did you know she was a witch?" Ajalia asked again, following Ullar.
"Go home," Ullar barked.
"No," Ajalia said. "What are you going to do with the body?" Ullar turned in the back hall of the tenement, and glared at Ajalia.
"Go home," Ullar said forcefully. Ajalia looked straight at the older woman. She saw a flush of anger creep slowly up the mother's cheeks. "I'm taking her to dress her," Ullar said.
"You can take my clothes," Ajalia said quickly. "You said you'd lend me something to wear."
Ullar grunted as though she was looking on at a horrible accident.
"You should go home," the older woman said, and went up the first of the stairs. Ajalia followed close behind her.
"I have to go in a few minutes," Ajalia said, "but I'll come back."
"I don't want you to come back," Ullar said. She sounded fretful. "Go home and stay there," she snapped down at Ajalia, who was on the step just behind her.
"No," Ajalia said quickly. Ullar turned on the step. The dead witch's bare arm dangled loosely against the wall. Ullar stared at Ajalia as though she would like to murder her as well. "You aren't going to get rid of me," Ajalia told Ullar. Ullar frowned. "Really," Ajalia assured her, "I'm hard to get rid of."
Ullar smiled, but it was an angry smile.
"Go home," Ullar said between her teeth. Ajalia waited patiently. After a long stare, Ullar spun on the step and climbed to her apartment.
"Thank you," Ajalia said to the older woman's back.
"I have done nothing to merit thanks," Ullar barked. Ajalia said nothing to this. She waited until Ullar had unlatched the door to her room, and then slipped inside before the middle-aged mother could adjust her grip on the naked witch. Ullar grimaced at Ajalia, and stepped into the room. Ajalia shut the door, and waited for Ullar to settle the witch on the floor just inside the room.
Ullar's apartment was two rooms deep; at one end of the room in which they now stood was a tiny kitchen, and a pair of closets. Ajalia could see the corner of a table in one closet; its surface was piled high with papers and bundled envelopes.
"Where are your children?" Ajalia asked, standing with her back to the closed door.
"Dress the witch," Ullar said, and went into the farther room. Ajalia could see no other persons within the apartment. She examined her bloody clothing, and found that the majority of the blood lay over the long tunic. Her hands were dark with the witch's blood.
A young boy, about eleven or twelve, came wandering out into the room. Ajalia was thankful she had not yet disrobed. The boy stared at Ajalia with scornful eyes.
"You're covered in blood," the boy said shortly. Ajalia said nothing. She watched the boy, and he glared distrustfully at her. "Mother," the boy said loudly, going back into the inner room. "There's a girl," he said. Ajalia could hear a rustling from beyond the farther door. The boy had not seen the naked witch, which Ajalia found somewhat incredible. His eyes had never gone down to the place where the frail body lay heaped against the door.
"Why haven't you changed?" Ullar demanded, coming back into the room. She had a green tunic and a pair of plain leggings in her hands.
"Is that your son?" Ajalia asked, nodding towards the room where the boy had gone. Ullar followed her eyes, and then turned back to Ajalia.
"Who?" Ullar asked. She thrust the clothes out to Ajalia. Ajalia held up her bloody hands, and Ullar gestured with a grimace to the inner room. "There's a basin there," she said. "You'll refill it after you've bloodied it," she snapped after Ajalia, who nodded. Ajalia went into the farther room, and saw the boy again. He was sitting on a low table at the far corner of the room, and swinging his legs.
"She doesn't know I'm here," the boy told Ajalia. He pushed his eyebrows towards the place where his mother stood out of sight, and then returned his level gaze to Ajalia. "You'd better not tell her," he added.
"Why not?" Ajalia asked.
"I'm dead to her," the boy explained. Ajalia saw a white basin of tepid water on a dresser; she went to it, and cleaned her hands.
"How did you kill that?" the boy asked. He pointed at Ajalia's arms.
"Kill what?" she asked, her cheeks flushing.
"There's blood from a demon on your skin," the boy said. "How did you kill it?"
Ajalia stood with her fingers half in the water and stared at the boy. Ullar came back into the room and caught sight of Ajalia's frozen face and dripping arms.
"What's the matter with you?" Ullar asked. Ajalia blinked. The boy stood up, and walked out of the room. Right before he went out of sight, he met Ajalia's eyes.
"I'll come and see you later," he said. "When she's gone," he added, thrusting his chin at his mother. The boy went through the door, and Ajalia heard the front door open and close with a muffled snap.
"Are you all right?" Ullar asked sharply. Ajalia's breath startled in her; she felt as though she had been caught spying through someone's basement window.
"What?" Ajalia asked, heat flooding her face. She hurriedly washed her arms and hands, and pulled her stained tunic over her head. Ullar was watching her suspiciously.
"Who were you talking to?" she asked Ajalia, her eyes looking closely at Ajalia's mouth. Ajalia took the green shirt from Ullar, and pulled it swiftly over her head, concealing her knife harness from view. Ajalia was acutely aware that Ullar had seen the well-worn leather that stretched over her bare body, and the row of instruments that she carried in pockets within the waist of her leggings now, to replace the many hiding places she had kept in her inner Eastern robe.
"What are you?" Ullar demanded. She followed Ajalia as the Eastern slave strode quickly to the outer room, and pulled the stained brown tunic over the bare body of the witch. "What did you see?" Ullar hissed, gripping Ajalia hard around the upper arm. Ajalia glanced guiltily at the older woman.
"A boy," Ajalia said. Ullar examined her eyes. She released Ajalia's arm, and stepped back.
"Someone told you to say that," Ullar said finally.
"I asked if that was your son," Ajalia told her. Ullar studied her doubtfully.
"Everyone knows to say that," Ullar said.
"Say what?" Ajalia asked.
"No one really sees him," Ullar said loudly. She opened the door to the stairwell, and gestured for Ajalia to leave.
"I have to change the water," Ajalia said.
"Never mind," Ullar snapped. "I'll do it."
"I'll change the water," Ajalia said, and turned back towards the inner room.
"Get out of my house!" Ullar shouted. Her face was flushed and red, and her eyes had begun to grow bright. Ajalia stared at Ullar. A pulse of fear was racing up and down her spine; she felt as though she had entered some unfriendly new world. The power she had touched from deep within the earth was still throbbing gently in her bones, and she could feel a kind of hot glow shuffling beneath her feet. Ajalia's blood was throbbing incessantly below the bone of her jaw.
"I saw a boy," Ajalia said. "He was not any older than twelve. He has green eyes, and black hair that looks almost gray." Ullar stared at Ajalia with glassy eyes. A single tear spilled out over the rim of Ullar's lower lid, and trickled down her cheek.
"You're lying," Ullar said in a voice that rasped. Ajalia went back into the inner room, and picked up the bowl of darkened water. She went back to the front door.
"Where's a bath house?" Ajalia asked. Ullar b
reathed slowly in and out, and then opened the door.
"I'll come with you," she said.
"What will we do with the body of the witch?" Ajalia asked Ullar. The older woman made a shushing noise.
"Others are not like me," she said in a low voice, closing the door behind them, and locking it. "Don't speak of it."
"Why?" Ajalia asked clearly. Ullar glanced at her.
"Where did you come from?" Ullar demanded. "Are you a wizard's girl?" Ajalia smiled before she could stop herself. She bit back a laugh.
"No," Ajalia said soberly. The idea of her master working magic, or believing in the golden lights, made her want to snicker.
"Then where did you learn to see?" Ullar asked. Ajalia thought about her answer for some time.
"Whose side are you on?" Ajalia asked finally. Ullar did not ask her what she meant.
"I am neutral," Ullar said finally. Ajalia closed her lips. The two women came out into the street. The jennet was still tied outside the tenement. Ullar led the way towards the corner, where a heavy pillar marked the entrance to a decrepit bath house.
"Who owns the witch's building?" Ajalia asked, when they turned into the bath house. Ullar stopped within the entrance, and folded her arms. Ajalia carried the bowl of bloody water into the depths of the house. She found a long basin, and emptied the water down the drain, careful to keep the tinted water from marking the dirty white stone of the basin.
Ajalia glanced behind her, and saw the outline of Ullar at the door of the bath house; Ajalia could just see the middle-aged woman's face as she stood against the opening; her eyes were turned out into the street. Ajalia found a working spigot, and filled the bowl.
"Is it one of the Thief Lord's houses?" Ajalia asked Ullar, when she came up towards the older woman. Ullar looked around at her. The light was fading quickly now, and shadows were filling up the white streets.
"Is the donkey yours?" Ullar asked Ajalia, pointing down the street towards the tiny jennet. Ajalia nodded. Ajalia led the way back towards the tenement, bearing the vessel of water between her hands. She could feel a kind of wild rhythm just below her feet; she thought that if she looked carefully, she would see seams of gold and violent green light spinning between the stones of the street. "Where are you from?" Ullar asked again, her voice tentative. Ajalia could hear doubt in the middle-aged woman's question. Ajalia thought that Ullar was wondering if she had made a mistake to be so unfriendly. "You're from the East," Ullar suggested hopefully. Still silent, Ajalia nodded. They proceeded silently up the steps of the tenement. Ullar unlocked the door to her rooms, and Ajalia went in, and replaced the basin of water where she had found it.
"Thank you for your help," Ajalia said. Ullar raised one hand partway towards her, and then hesitated. Ajalia went to the wall where the body of the old witch lay crumpled in the bloodstained tunic, and retrieved the folded paper and the marked leather that she had put into the inner pocket. She put the paper and the leather into the waist of her leggings, and bowed briefly towards Ullar.
"Wait," Ullar said, an edge of tension arcing through her voice. Ajalia glanced at Ullar, and then smiled.
"Goodbye," Ajalia said, and let herself out. She went down the stairs to the garbage pit, and examined the burbling black substance that turned restlessly within the circled depression. She looked about for a vessel of some kind, and could find nothing. Ajalia sighed. She went back up the stairs to her own little room, and looked over the bed and the wide stone bowl. The two bundles lay on the floor. The bowl, she reflected, was far too large to take down the stairs to fetch the acidic black liquid. The blood on the floor stared up at her with a malignancy that made her shudder with annoyance. Ajalia had a horror of leaving disruption behind her. She went to the door, and hesitated with her hand on the frame.
"Did you really see Bain?" Ullar asked. Ajalia turned, and looked up the stairs. The middle-aged woman was standing on the landing just above her, her face tipped over the edge of the stairs.
"Yes," Ajalia said. Ullar's jaw wiggled a little from side to side. She looked as though she were thinking.
"Come back tomorrow," Ullar said finally. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Can I borrow a cup?" Ajalia asked.
"I'll clean up the blood," Ullar said. Her voice was sharper, firmer now than it had been. Ajalia studied the woman's eyes.
"I can do it myself," Ajalia said. She was sure she had no trust for the mother yet. Ullar waved a hand at her.
"I'm taking the body out," Ullar said. "It's no trouble." Ajalia studied the older woman with a troubling twist turning over and over in her stomach.
"Where are your children?" Ajalia asked. Ullar's face pinched, and she vanished up the stairs. Ajalia sighed again, and followed her. When she reached Ullar's door, the woman had retreated within her rooms, and the door was closed fast. "Have they been sold?" Ajalia called into the room. She knocked at the door, but Ullar made no answer.
"She won't come out," the boy told Ajalia. She spun around, but could not see him anywhere. "I'm in here," he said, and she realized that he was speaking from the other side of the closed door. "She can't hear me," he added helpfully.
"What are you?" Ajalia asked slowly. She gazed on the door as though afraid it would come to life, and pounce at her. "Are you called Bain?" she asked.
The door opened with a swish, and Ullar was revealed on the other side; she was breathing hard, and her eyes were very bright.
"Who are you talking to?" Ullar demanded. Her hair, which Ajalia noticed for the first time was worn long, was beginning to fall out of its fastenings.
"Are you going to sell the witch to someone?" Ajalia asked. "Are you hoping to buy your children back?" Ullar glared at Ajalia, and the sides of the older woman's neck expanded a little. "Where are your children?" Ajalia asked again. Ullar's face was beginning to be obscured in the darkness.
"I didn't sell them," Ullar said.
"I know," Ajalia lied. "I know you didn't."
"They were taken from me," Ullar insisted.
"Yes," Ajalia said.
"I'm going to get them back," Ullar said. Ajalia watched the dark figure of the middle-aged mother in the gap made by the door, and she felt profoundly grateful that she had no children of her own.
"Where are they?" Ajalia asked one more time. She watched what she could see of Ullar's face. She wondered that she had not seen before that Ullar was a married woman. Ajalia began to ask herself where Ullar's husband was.
"The Thief Lord has them," Ullar said finally. Her voice, when she spoke, was entirely different. It was tired, and flat. Ajalia felt a surge of relief.
"Well, I can get them back," Ajalia said. "Are they with him at his house?" Ullar pulled Ajalia into her room, and hurriedly lit a lamp. She held the light up to Ajalia's face, and studied her eyes.
"How will you do this?" Ullar demanded.
"Who is Bain?" Ajalia replied.
Ullar's jaw clenched; with an effort, the older woman opened her mouth, and said peaceably, "He is my son."
"Is he dead?" Ajalia asked. Again, Ullar's lips grew taut, and then relaxed gradually.
"I don't know," Ullar said.
"That is not an answer," Ajalia said.
"I don't know!" Ullar said angrily. "If he was dead, there would be a body, but when he—when he went, there was no body. I don't know if he is dead."
Ajalia could feel the tug of the servants in the dragon temple; she had promised them that she would be back when it was dark, and the twilight was rapidly fading into night.
"Can you leave the body for an hour?" Ajalia asked Ullar. Ullar glanced at the dark heap of the witch; a congealed pool of blood had puddled on the stone floor beneath her, and the broad face was tilted wildly to one side. Ullar gave a decided nod. "Lock your door," Ajalia said, "and I will lock mine. We will clean up later."
"Where are we going?" Ullar asked. Ajalia went out of the room, and passed down the stairs to her little room. She grimaced at the smear of blood on the fl
oor; she could not bring herself to leave it. She knew somehow that she would regret it, if she left it behind. Ajalia wrinkled her nose and stamped back up the stairs.
"Do you know the dragon temple?" Ajalia asked. Ullar had just come out of her room; her hand was still on the handle of the door. Ullar nodded. "I cannot leave the blood," Ajalia explained. Ullar studied her face in the light of the lamp within her room; she nodded, and went in. After a moment, Ullar returned with a rag and a small bowl of water. Ullar extinguished the lamp, and came into the hall with the bowl. She passed the rag and the bowl to Ajalia.
"Tell them at the dragon temple that I will be there any minute," Ajalia told Ullar.
"Should I take the ass?" Ullar called after Ajalia. Ajalia turned on the steps.
"Take the two bundles in my room," she told the older woman. "There's a man at the dragon temple who will take the jennet." Ullar nodded, and locked her door. Ajalia ran down the steps and into the back courtyard. She scooped the bowl of water into the very top of the bubbling black liquid, and carried it back into the tenement. She could hear Ullar's footsteps passing out of the front entrance.
Ajalia climbed swiftly to her room, and let herself in. She put the bowl on the floor, and dipped the rag gingerly into the mixture of water and black fluid. The poison tree juice, which had started with the consistency of hot pitch, was thinned somewhat by the water; it soaked easily into the rag, and Ajalia put the wet cloth to the bloody floor with a slap.
THE MAGIC KNIFE
As Ajalia rubbed the last of the death stains from the white stone floor, she heard a sharp clap of boots on the landing below her. She froze, and then gathered the rag and bowl close to her chest. She darted silently to the narrow window, and looked out. She just saw the last flick of fabric from a Slavithe guard's cloak as it licked around the entrance to the tenement. Ajalia moved without thinking. She slipped her leg out of the window, and climbed along a rim of white stone to the narrow balcony on the house next door to the tenement building. She glanced down at the shadowed street below, her hands wrapped around the rails of the balcony; she could see the stones, looming too far and too solid beneath her. Closing her eyes, she reached once more into the earth beneath the white stone, and pulled a violent cradle of purple light up towards her. She let go of the balcony, and dropped into the cusp of light. Her legs buckled, and the rag flapped out of her hand, but the bowl remained clasped under her arm, and she was unharmed. Gasping for breath, Ajalia retrieved the fallen rag, and darted along the dark street towards the dragon temple. She was unutterably grateful that the jennet had been taken away, and that Ullar was gone. She had a sure feeling in her gut that Ullar would have surrendered her to the Slavithe guards in a heartbeat, and that the Thief Lord would not have been so understanding of the blood as the Slavithe mother had been. She had heard more than one pair of boots on the tenement landing. She did not know how the guards had known to come to the poor tenement, but she was beginning to think that there was more to the magical underbelly of Slavithe than she had suspected at first.